


Fear Factor

by VivArney



Category: The Wizard (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 10:38:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5624089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivArney/pseuds/VivArney





	Fear Factor

It was a beautiful day in all respects. The sun was  
shining brightly in a perfectly clear ocean of  
brilliant blue. It was one of those rare "magic" days  
in early autumn when the air was crisp and cool but  
not really cold enough for a jacket.

Simon McKay hummed softly along with the classical  
music playing on the radio, as he drove his specially  
equipped Ford Bronco down the little-used country  
road. He glanced down at the map and smiled. This  
unexpected detour wouldn't cost them much time and the  
scenery was far too beautiful to be missed.

Muffled movement beside him caught his attention and  
he glanced over to where Alex Jagger, his government  
assigned bodyguard, dozed away, his lanky frame  
sprawled limply in the heavily padded passenger seat.  
The dark-haired CIC agent had never been much for  
scenery, Simon knew, and the long drive had quickly  
become very boring for him. 

Simon reached for the window control, then changed  
his mind. As refreshing as the cool air might be, the  
sudden breeze might startle Alex and the highly  
trained agent didn't take too well to rude awakenings,  
even at the best of times. Simon tapped the control  
to open the driver's side wing-window instead and took  
a deep breath, filling his lungs with the clean,  
cool, country air. A fork appeared in the road ahead.  
Simon checked the map again, then turned right.

Alex groaned and moved in his sleep, as he tried to  
turn away from the bright morning sun that was now  
streaming through the windshield, but the heavy  
seatbelt didn't allow much freedom of movement.

Seeing the trouble, Simon tapped another switch on  
the armrest console. There was a soft click as a long  
sun visor dropped down from the top of the windshield,  
blocking the sun from Alex's face, but it was already  
too late.

Alex sat up, folded the visor back into its holder and  
groaned.

"Enjoy your nap?" asked Simon.

"How long have I been asleep?" Alex asked groggily.

Simon glanced at the liquid-crystal clock set into  
the dash before he answered.

Alex was wide awake now, embarrassment and concern  
his hazel eyes. "Simon, why didn't you wake me up  
when you got tired?"

"I'm not tired." he answered with a grin. “It's a  
beautiful day."

"If you like trees, grass and snakes. Where are we  
anyway?" Alex asked. He looked around. Everything  
looked almost the same as it had when he dozed off.  
Trees. Grubby wild grass and twin drainage ditches, on  
each side of the pot hole infested country road, both  
deep.

"Nearly there. Another hour yet." Simon told him.

Alex shook his head. "I still can't believe you're  
driving three hundred miles, into the middle of  
nowhere, to help somebody open a toy store."

"Neddy asked me to come. She's an old friend, Alex.  
I can't disappoint  
her. Besides, you didn't have to come, if you didn't  
want to."

The CIC agent sighed. They both knew that wasn't  
possible. Simon was still at the top of the KGB's  
Wish List. "Hey, Simon..." Alex said worriedly,  
pointing up the road.

Simon looked to his left to see thick, black smoke  
billowing from beneath the hood of a battered old blue  
pickup. A pretty blonde in worn jeans and a faded  
plaid work shirt sat on the tailgate, crying.

"It looks like she could use some help," Simon  
observed. He pulled over not far from the disabled  
vehicle.

"Stay here, while I check this out," Alex ordered. He  
hopped out of the Bronco, almost before it stopped.  
"Hi," he called to the girl as he walked over.

She looked up at him. "Hi."

"Mind if I take a look?"

She sniffed into a very wet handful of tissues. "Go  
right ahead," she said without much enthusiasm.

Alex popped the hood and peered critically through  
the smoke. Simon was actually better with machines,  
but even he could see the engine was beyond help. "It  
looks pretty serious," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed. She sniffed into her sodden wad.

Alex heard the Bronco's door open, and turned to see  
Simon hopping down, a box of tissues in his hand.

"Can we help?" he asked, holding the box out to her.

She pulled out a couple of dry tissues and shook her  
head.

"It looks like it might have thrown a rod, Simon."  
Alex said. He pointed at the pool of oil beneath the  
battered old pickup.

"My uncle's gonna kill me!" she wailed.

"Can we give you a lift somewhere?" Simon offered.

The girl looked them both over suspiciously. "Crazy  
I'm not," she said. She handed Simon back the box of  
tissues with a snap and glared up at Alex angrily. "I  
can walk to town."

"That's a long way. Are you sure we can't give you a  
ride?" Alex offered again.

"No thanks," she said. She stood, slammed the hood  
with a bang and headed off down the road.

Alex started to go after her, then changed his mind,  
deciding it was better to stay with Simon. Something  
about the situation felt very wrong. And he silently  
cursed himself for leaving his gun in the Bronco's  
glovebox. He was feeling a bit naked without it.  
"Come on. Simon, Neddy's waiting," he reminded the  
smaller man. He watched the girl for a moment, and  
sighed, feeling a little insulted. The men were  
silent, as they turned to their car. Neither felt  
comfortable, leaving the young woman alone out here.  
but there wasn't much they could do about it. They  
understood her reason. With all the kooks on the  
road, you couldn't trust anybody anymore.

Just before they reached the waiting Bronco, a blur  
of movement off to their right caught Alex's eye. He  
could never explain later just what had alerted him.  
He shouted a warning and shoved Simon into the nearest  
ditch just as something embedded itself deep in his  
right arm. Alex cried out from the sudden pain and  
fell, gasping, into the dirt beside the road.

Simon clambered out of the ditch and knelt beside his  
friend. "Alex, what's wrong?"

"Run, Simon! Get outta here!" he warned in a hoarse  
whisper. He was trying to fight the peculiar mixture  
of white hot pain and slow numbing cold that was  
already spreading from his arm.

Simon stood, grabbed Alex's uninjured arm and tried  
desperately to pull the larger man toward their car.  
After few tries, he sank to his knees in defeat. Alex  
outweighed him by far too much. "Alex, you've got to  
try to make it to the car," he told him.

The CIC agent was still for a moment as he tried to  
gather his strength. Breathing heavily at the  
enormous effort it seemed to take. He finally managed  
to get his feet under him and stood with Simon's help,  
He took two shuffling steps before the feeling went  
out of his legs and he fell roughly into the deep  
ditch. He tried to lift himself away from the dusty  
slope and, when that too failed, he slumped to the  
ground, exhausted. Alex's mind whirled with anger at  
the sudden weakness he felt spreading through his  
body.

The strange paralysis which had begun in his injured  
arm only seemed to spread faster the harder he tried  
to escape. His shoulder was already so numb he  
couldn't feel the pain from what he was certain had to  
be a gaping wound.

Dirt and rocks tumbled from the road above as Simon  
scrambled down to him. "Alex?" he called worriedly.

Alex saw, rather than felt. the smaller man's attempt  
to turn his now almost limp body over. The CIC agent  
felt himself starting to panic as the numbness spread  
to his chest and breathing became difficult. Simon  
had to get away! He had to tell him, but it was like  
trying to breathe honey. He just couldn't seem to get  
enough air. Finally, his eyes shining with the effort,  
he managed a dry, raspy "Run!" before everything went  
dark.

"I can't." Simon whispered, as he watched his  
friend's eyes close. He briefly considered shaking  
the now unconscious man, then decided against it. He  
couldn't possibly get Alex back up onto the road and  
into the car by himself. He climbed back up out of  
the ditch. If the girl...

He looked off in the direction the blonde had taken,  
not surprised to find she was nowhere in sight. That  
hope exhausted, he headed quickly back to the Bronco,  
his mind racing to find a way to help his friend.

"That's far enough, McKay," a woman's voice warned.  
The blonde walked out from behind the Bronco followed  
by two Neanderthal types. All three carried what  
looked like some sort of dart gun.

"I see you found some help."

"Where is your handsome friend?

Simon frowned. Was she playing games with him? It  
was hard to believe she didn’t already know where he  
was. Finally, he shrugged, hoping to buy Alex some  
recovery time.

The woman bolstered her weapon and reached into her  
pocket. She removed a vicious looking hypodermic.

"What’s that?"

"The antidote for the paralysis drug your friend was  
given. If he doesn't receive it soon, his body will  
shut down and he'll die. "

Simon didn't dare risk a glance in Alex’s direction.  
“How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"You don't, but, do you really want to take that  
chance?"

He lowered his head and pointed.

The largest of the two hulks went down and, a moment  
later, carried Alex up onto the road.

"Gently, Wauro," she warned. "He mustn't be  
damaged."

“Yes, Miss Dodson,” Wauro said as he laid Alex onto  
the pavement with a grunt and stepped back.

Simon tried to get to his friend, but the larger man  
moved into his way.

"Leave him be, Caston," the woman ordered. She knelt  
beside Alex's still form and opened a large black  
satchel Wauro had handed her. "Go get the ambulance.  
Wauro, you take their car in. We don't want it  
spotted until we're ready."

The big man frowned. "But..."

"Get a move on. damnit. I can handle an unconscious  
man and a dwarf."

Simon glanced over his shoulder at the Bronco  
wondering if there was any way for him to get either  
his bag or Alex's gun. He hated violence, and guns in  
particular, but if there was the slightest chance he  
could bluff these people, he had to try.

"I wouldn't, Mr. McKay," the woman warned. "I  
haven't given your friend the antidote yet." She  
smiled at him, and Simon felt distinctly  
uncomfortable. "I'm told you're a man of your word,"

"I try." He answered guardedly.

"Good. You give me your word you won't try to  
escape, and I'll let him live."

"That would be tantamount to suicide," he protested.

"Your decision." She swabbed the inside of Alex's  
right arm with a wet cotton ball and looked up at him.  
"I'd decide quickly, if I were you. There is a point  
when the paralysis becomes permanent. Your friend  
looks strong, but nobody's that strong."

"All right," Simon agreed quickly. He knew he was  
saving Alex's life, but in doing so, he had, very  
likely, given up any chance of an easy escape.

Dodson smiled as she injected a clear fluid into  
Alex's arm. "I'm sure your bodyguard will thank you  
when wakes up. "

"If," Simon whispered. He watched in silence as the  
woman opened Alex's shirt and pulled a small metal  
dart from his shoulder. She poured a generous amount  
of alcohol over the tiny hole the dart had made and  
taped a small square of gauze over the wound.

Caston and Wauro returned in a battered old  
ambulance. They loaded Alex inside and Dodson got into  
the back just long enough to position an oxygen mask  
over Alex’s face before she clambered back down onto  
the road.

"Where are you taking him?"

Wauro lifted Simon into the back of the ambulance  
without a word and slammed the heavy door with  
considerable force.

* * * * *

A single lavender light shone onto the disfigured  
face a slim, grey-haired man seated in a heavily  
padded air. He looked up from the papers he had been  
studying as a man approached his ornate desk. "Yes,  
Doctor?" he asked, turning off the pale glow with a  
gloved hand.

Doctor Maurice Orlow stepped forward. "Caston  
reports they have Jagger and McKay. They're bringing  
them in now."

"How long?"

"At least an hour, sir."

The man flipped up the protective lenses covering his  
eyes and smiled. "Enjoy your last moments of  
peace,.McKay. They will be the last for a very long  
time." he whispered with a soft chuckle.

Orlow started backing out of the room.

"Don't go. Doctor. Not yet. Have you completed your  
final tests?"

"Yes, sir. The results were excellent."

* * * * *

The ride was long and rough. Simon tried to ignore  
the bumps as he sat on the metal floor. He would have  
clambered into the padded seat above the wheel, but  
there was no seat belt and only a worn leather strap  
hanging from the high ceiling far out of his reach.  
Besides, a good bump would surely have send him  
flying. 

He rested his back against the thin tubular legs of  
the gurney and tried to think of a way to escape.  
Without his bag, or Alex's help, things looked pretty  
hopeless. He would just have to wait until they  
reached wherever it was they were being taken and see  
what he could do then.

These people, whoever they were, were very efficient.  
They had gotten Alex, who would have been the greatest  
threat to their plans, out of the way before putting  
in an appearance.

He held onto the gurney's thin railing as he stood to  
check the other man's condition. Alex was still  
unconscious, but, as far as Simon could tell, the  
antidote seemed to be working. He was breathing a  
little slowly, but his pulse seemed to be strong and  
steady.

As he watched, Alex opened his eyes and moved on the  
gurney, groaning softly. Simon reached up and pulled  
the oxygen mask away from the other man's pale face.  
"Welcome back," he said with a relieved smile.

"Simon? What the Hell...?" Alex asked hoarsely, his  
throat dry from the oxygen.

Understanding the trouble. Simon glanced around. A  
small canteen hung from a hook set high in the wall.  
He had to wrestle with it for a moment before the  
strap came free. He opened the container and took a  
cautious sip. It was water all right and it tasted  
fresh. "Here, Alex. Better take it slowly at first,"  
he warned as he helped his friend take a drink.

"Thanks." Alex said a moment later. "Are you okay?"

Simon nodded.

"Any idea who they are, or where they're taking us?"

"No. but they made quite a show of giving you the  
antidote. How do you feel now?"

Alex swallowed. "I didn't think it was possible to  
feel dizzy and numb at the same time."

"You can't feel this?" Simon asked, tapping on the  
other man's bare arm,

"No, it's like a massive dose of novocaine. Simon. I  
can't feel a thing."

"Well, I don't think it's permanent. They have  
orders not to harm us."

"Yeah, but who from?"

Simon shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

* * * * *

Simon stared worriedly down at Alex. as the ambulance  
bumped down an unevenly paved country road. The CIC  
agent had drifted off to sleep just after the  
ambulance passed through an old tunnel, but he had  
been very agitated the last five minutes or so. He  
had cried out in obvious pain and kept trying to pull  
his right arm to his chest, but the heavy straps kept  
it pinned to his side. Simon wasn't sure whether it  
was some sort of reaction to the paralysis drug he had  
been shot with, the "antidote" the woman had given him  
or whether Alex was just having a bad dream.

“Alex. wake up!" Simon urged.

Alex mumbled something unintelligible, then opened  
his eyes and looked around dazedly. "Simon? Are you  
all right?" He tried unsuccessfully to sit up.

"Don't try to sit up, Alex. They've got you pretty  
well strapped down. I can't undo the buckles."

Alex didn't say anything more for a minute, he was  
too busy trying to wriggle his right arm out from  
under the heavy straps.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to get my arm out. Give me a hand, will  
you?"

Simon didn't know exactly what Alex had in mind, but  
he reached forward and carefully pulled the CIC  
agent's limp arm out from the straps. "Now what?"

"Hold it up. I want to see it," he panted.

Simon raised the arm, still confused.

Alex stared at the smooth, unbroken skin in  
disbelief. "Okay, let it down."

"Alex?"

"It must have been a dream," he whispered in relief.

"More like a nightmare, the way you've been tossing  
about. How are you feeling?"

"Feeling?" Alex snorted. "Simon, I'm not 'feeling'  
anything." He took a deep breath. "Sorry, you didn't  
deserve that. I'm feeling better, a little tired  
maybe, but otherwise, okay."

"What did you dream?"

"It was just a dream, Simon."

“Don’t you remember anything?”

Alex sighed. “I’m not sure exactly.”

The ambulance lurched suddenly, sending Simon  
sprawling.

"I think we're about to find out who they are," the  
toymaker muttered,  
as the ambulance stopped in total darkness

* * * * *

The doorbell rang at a cozy looking, two story, blue  
and white house on Elm Street. Inside, Tillie  
Russell, a burly woman in her late fifties, excused  
herself from her poker game. Muttering curses for  
being so rudely interrupted while holding a full  
house, she went to the front door,

"Hi, Mr. Linden. Come on in," she said. She ushered  
the CIC agent through the door.

"Hello, Miss Russell. How are you?"

"Fine, fine. Let me get you some coffee. How ‘bout  
some apple pie, just baked it this mornin’?”

Linden shook his head. "I'm sorry, I can't stay. If  
I could just have a word with Alex..."

"He’s not here."

"Where is he?"

"Oh, he and Simon took off early this mornin'."

"Took off?"

"Yeah, Simon got a call from a girl. Neddy, I think  
he said. Anyway, she asked him to come and help her  
open her new toy store. Alex went along to keep him  
out of trouble."

"Oh. "

"They promised they'd call when they got there. You  
want me to have Alex call you?"

"No, I'm afraid this matter is too sensitive for the  
telephone."

"What's wrong?" Tillie asked worriedly; she hadn't  
known Alex long, but she was fond of him.

"Now, Miss Russell, I can't..."

"Look here; If those boys are in some kind of  
trouble, I want to know."

"Tillie, should we play through?" someone yelled from  
the other room.

Tillie winced. "A full house. Aces high...groan. I  
fold." She pushed Linden toward the library. She  
wasn't going to take "NO” for an answer.

Linden frowned. Just telling her Alex and Simon  
might be in trouble could be considered a security  
leak, but his agency had checked the ex-galley cook  
out thoroughly just after her arrival, and, except for  
a few dozen barroom brawls, there was nothing in her  
past to connect her with anyone who might want to  
abduct Simon. 

He sighed finally. “Very well. Tillie. We have  
reason to believe Troyan may attempt to kidnap Simon."

"Troyan’s dead...Alex said... "

Linden shook his head. "No body was found."

"Do Alex and Simon know?"

"Alex was told, and I'm reasonably sure he passed the  
information on to Simon. When are they due back?"

"Not 'til tomorrow. Sometime pretty late."

"Did Simon leave this Neddy's phone number with you?"

"Sure did." She led him into the living room. "Oh,  
these are just some friends of mine," she explained,  
as he glanced over at the women seated around the  
dining room table. "They just came over to play  
bridge," she continued, while she dialed the number  
Simon had left beside the phone.

Linden didn't believe her story for a minute. He had  
heard the distinct clatter of poker chips as they  
entered the living room.

The craggy-faced woman spoke to someone, presumably  
Neddy, on the phone for a moment, then covered the  
mouthpiece with a large callused hand. "She hasn't  
heard from them yet. They're about two hours late."

"They could have stopped for lunch."

Tillie shook her head. "They were supposed to have  
lunch with Neddy," she removed her hand from the  
receiver. “Honey, just make sure Alex calls me as soon  
as he gets there." Tillie told Neddy good-bye and  
hung up the phone.

"I'll have my people check the roads between here and  
Neddy's."

"Now, hold on! They could have had trouble with the  
car. Alex said it was running a little hot. Anyway,  
Alex won't let anything happen to Simon."

"Tillie, you know as well as I do that Troyan isn't  
about to let Alex stand in his way. We've got to find  
them."

"And what if you're wrong, and they just stopped off  
somewhere?"

Linden laid a hand on the woman's shoulder. "I hope  
I am wrong Tillie...I hope to Heaven I'm wrong."

* * * * *

The ambulance stopped suddenly, inside a brightly lit  
parking garage. After a moment, the engine was turned  
off and the rear doors were thrown open. Wauro  
reached in, released the gurney's wheel locks and,  
with Caston's help, lowered it to the painted cement  
floor.

The "helpless female" they had tried to help on the  
road appeared and  
took charge of Simon, as the men rolled Alex down a  
nearby corridor.

"Where are they taking him?"

"To see our doctor, Mr. McKay. We want to be certain  
he's not injured. You'll see him again in a while."

"I'd rather go with him."

The blonde seemed uncertain as she glanced nervously  
up at a short row of lights set high in the garage  
wall. After a moment, a green bulb began to glow.

"Very well, Mr. McKay," she said finally.

Simon followed her down the long corridor and into a  
very modern looking examination room. Alex was being  
helped, rather roughly it seemed, from the gurney to a  
cloth covered exam table. A tall grey-haired man, a  
doctor, Simon guessed, stood nearby fussing with some  
equipment Simon wasn't familiar with.

The older man carefully lifted the gauze pad Miss  
Dodson had taped over the small hole in Alex's  
shoulder. "The wound doesn't look too bad. Does it  
hurt?" He glanced at his watch. "No, I don't suppose  
it would... it's too early. A person your size and  
age should recover from the drug very soon now.  
Unfortunately, you still won't be able to walk for at  
least another hour."

Alex felt a sudden rush as his drug deadened nerves  
woke from their long sleep. He gasped involuntarily  
at the brief wave of intense pain that raced through  
his body. It was like the worst case of pins and  
needles he had ever felt.

Concerned, Simon stepped forward.

"I'm all right, Simon," Alex assured him, in a  
whisper. He took a deep shuddering breath and sat up.  
"I'm all right."

Orlow's dark eyes were on his watch as he took Alex’s  
pulse. "Very good. Mr. Jagger." He turned to Wauro.  
"Take them to their quarters for an hour, or so; then  
we'll begin."

"Begin what?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. McKay, I 'm not permitted to discuss  
that. Now, if you'll go with Ms. Dodson, she'll take  
care of you.”

"Take care of us?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alex asked, angrily.  
He glared at the blonde standing behind Simon.

"If you'll just..."

Alex shook his head. "We aren't going anywhere until  
you tell us who had us kidnaped and why."

Dodson motioned to one of the men standing nearby.  
"Wauro."

Alex reluctantly backed down at the sight of the dark  
haired thug coming forward. He wasn't in any  
condition to fight the larger man and he doubted he  
would be able to, even under normal circumstances.

Dodson walked over and peered into Alex's eyes. "I  
wish we could have met at a different time," she  
cooed.

Alex glared at her. "I wouldn't have wasted my  
time.'

* * * * *

"This is getting old fast." Alex complained,  
wriggling beneath the heavy gurney straps.

"Hold still," Simon pleaded, as he took his  
multi-tool, a sort of hand-made Swiss army knife, out  
of his pocket and started in on the stubborn buckles  
Caston had opened so easily.

"This is all my fault, Simon," Alex insisted. "If I  
hadn't..."

Simon sighed in exasperation. "It's not your fault,  
Alex. We've got to try and escape somehow. I don't  
know what they've got planned, but I don't think I  
want to find out. How are you feeling? Are you up to  
an escape?"

"I can try. Any luck?"

Simon sat back on his heels. "No, I've never seen a  
locking mechanism like this before...it looks  
magnetic. You'll have to try and wiggle out."

"Okay."

After almost two minutes of straining, sweating,  
whispered curses from Alex and encouragement from  
Simon, Alex had his arms and feet free and was working  
on getting the rest of his body out from beneath the  
chest strap. With his arms free, the going was a bit  
easier, but not much. He managed to get everything  
above his hips out before the gurney over-balanced and  
threw him onto the floor. The CIC agent lay on the  
cool cement for a moment, trying to catch his breath,  
then crawled out from under the gurney. "I wouldn't  
want to try that again anytime soon," he muttered, as  
he got unsteadily to his feet.

Simon's dark eyes were on the heavy metal door. "I  
think that was the easy part."

Alex walked around the room, a hand on the wall for  
stability, looking for anything useful. The room was  
about ten or twelve feet square and featureless for  
the most part. There was no furniture and the only  
openings were a small barred window in the door and an  
air conditioning vent set high in one wall, both of  
them far too small to accommodate Simon's tiny body.  
There was no hope of getting his own much larger frame  
through the opening, much less through the narrow  
passages on the other side of the grills. 

Alex made a careful check of the door, only to learn  
the lock and hinges were on the other side. His legs  
started feeling rubbery and he forced himself to sit  
on the floor for a moment until it passed.

"I wish I had my bag with me," Simon muttered,  
speaking for the first time in several minutes.

"I wish you did. too." Alex agreed. "When I get my  
hands on..."

"Brute force isn't the answer, Alex. We've got to  
think our way out of this."

"It would be easier if we knew who it was." Alex  
slammed his fist against the wall in frustration.  
"Damn it, Simon, this isn't getting us anywhere! I've  
got to get you out of here!"

Simon frowned up at the taller man, worriedly. He  
had never seen  
Alex behave like this before. Angry, nervous, tired  
and worried, but never ready to tear someone's head  
off. Before he could tell the CIC agent to calm down,  
however, a pale yellow mist started hissing through  
one of the two grills they'd taken for air  
conditioning vents.

Alex was out of his shirt in a second, ripping  
buttons in the process and shoved it against the vent.  
"Simon, get down as low as you can!" he warned,  
already coughing,

* * * * *

Troyan smiled contentedly as he listened to the  
ragged coughs coming over the speakers from a  
microphone in the cell. "Doctor Orlow. are you  
prepared?"

"Yes. Mr. Troyan. We'll be ready to begin as soon as  
the sedative takes effect."

"And once you've finished, we'll know your device is  
operational and I'll finally be rid of that  
interfering little man."

The doctor was too busy with his machine to reply.

Troyan turned back to his monitor, unaffected by  
Orlow;'s silence. On the small color screen, Alex and  
Simon lay in limp heaps on the cold cement. "Things  
have gotten rather quiet in there, Wauro. You and  
Caston go bring them here."

"Mr. Troyan, if you'll come sit here, I'll tune the  
monitor and attach the electrodes.”

"I'll be able to see everything they see?"

"Yes, and, if all goes well, influence what they see,  
feel, and hear during their dreams."

"Excellent. Proceed."

By the time Alex and Simon were brought into the  
room, Orlow had completed his adjustments and was  
ready to begin the next stage of the tests.

Simon and Alex were strapped into chairs that closely  
resembled those in a modern dentist's office. Tiny  
electrodes were attached to their foreheads,  
chests,wrists, and fingers; blankets were placed over  
their still forms. Orlow flipped a switch sending EEG  
and EKG machines whirring into motion. 

He checked the readings carefully before turning to  
Troyan. "You may begin, sir, however. I would advise  
you to influence the dreams of only one subject at a  
time in the beginning. You should try to keep things  
as simple as possible until you are certain you have  
full control. Too much, too fast, could easily  
overload either of your minds and possibly kill one,  
if not both, of the parties."

"Understood. Doctor." Troyan agreed. "I'm ready."

"Which of them do you wish to begin with?"

Troyan considered it a moment. "Do you have a  
suggestion?"

"If I may, sir. You indicated that McKay had spent  
some time studying in the Himalayas."

"Yes."

"Then, I suggest you begin with Jagger."

"My business is with McKay."

"Mr. Troyan, based on the training McKay is certain  
to have received from the adepts in the Himalayas —  
his mind may well be stronger than you suspect. He  
may be able to resist the dream images or worse, turn  
them back on you in the early stages. On the other  
hand, Jagger has, quite probably, had only standard  
CIC training. His mind will be strong, but far more  
pliable than McKay's."

Troyan nodded. "Very well. we'll begin with Jagger."

* * * * *

Alex closed his eyes. The sudden movements had made  
his stomach turn. After a moment, he opened them  
experimentally and realized that, except for a dull  
ache where the dart had embedded itself in his  
shoulder, he felt fine. The clinging numbness was  
gone! It took a good bit of wiggling to get the  
buckles undone but, after a few moments he was free  
and sitting up on the gurney.

"Alex, What are you doing?"

"Getting us out of here. Stay back," he whispered,  
crouching low beside the still closed ambulance doors.  
"When I tell you, run for it. Okay?"

"What about..."

“I'll be right behind you," he promised. "Ready?"

"Ready."

The ambulance doors opened and Alex bolted out  
landing in a crouch. The fight in near darkness was  
brief and violent and, once Alex knocked the  
flashlight out of Wauro's hand. The CIC agent left the  
larger men wrestling each other in the darkened  
garage, while he and Simon raced toward the semicircle  
of softly glowing tubes that indicated the way out of  
the underground garage.

* * * * *

A short time later, Alex and Simon stood staring at  
the ramshackle old buildings before them. They were  
the remains of one of the California "Boom" towns that  
had sprung up around the turn of the century only to  
be deserted with the arrival of the Great Depression  
as people left in search of jobs.

"Who would build their headquarters under a ghost  
town?" Simon  
wondered.

Alex shrugged. It was a good way to go unnoticed.  
Few people lived in the area and fewer still would  
waste time in the crumbling old ruin.

The men turned as the sound of an approaching car  
broke the incredible silence. Alex glanced around  
quickly, his eyes scanning the surrounding buildings  
for a likely hiding place, that wouldn't also come  
down on their heads.

"Simon, over there," he whispered. He gestured  
toward a half open door nearby.

Once inside, they stood, leaning against the door  
jamb for a moment before Alex ducked through a ragged  
curtain into the back of the old general store, then  
returned satisfied there was no back entrance.

"I think we lost 'em," Alex said, as he peered  
through the dusty lace curtains.

"Are you sure?"

He dropped to sit on the wooden floorboards and tried  
to catch his breath. "They know the area, we don't."  
he answered. He dropped his head to his knees.  
"Damn, I shouldn't be this winded!" he complained.

"It's probably some after effect of the paralysis  
drug." Simon looked around the room critically.  
"Just rest there for a moment," he advised, stepping  
away.

Alex raised his head. Tired or not, Simon was still  
his responsibility. "Where are you going?"

"I'm just gonna have a look 'round. You know, you  
couldn't have picked a better hiding place."

Confused, Alex looked around him at the rotted  
crates, dust covered shelves and tin cans black with  
rust. There didn't seem to be anything here he would  
consider useful.

Simon had disappeared behind the high counter. "If I  
didn't know better, I'd swear you planned this," he  
continued, as he came back around the counter carrying  
a child's slingshot.

"It looks like a general store," Alex mumbled.

"Right. We can't eat anything in the cans, of  
course, but at least we've got tools."

"Always eager to please," Alex said. He used the  
sturdy window sill to pull himself up and stood  
unsteadily for a second, then walked slowly around the  
large counter. "I just wish we had something other  
than a slingshot to defend ourselves with."

Simon grinned up at his friend and turned the wood  
and rubber toy over in his tiny hands. "That's all  
David had."

"Very funny." Alex shot back, then smiled as he  
searched the shelves under the scarred wooden counter.  
"Hey!" he whispered, excitedly, discovering a brass  
and glass display case someone had placed on a low  
shelf. Resting on wooden pegs within, were two finely  
detailed pistols, a rifle, and a shotgun, all nearly  
covered by a thin layer of rust. Spotting a small box  
of shells nearby, he quickly popped the simple lock  
and removed the weapon showing the least amount of  
corrosion. A chunky, old-fashioned, double-barreled  
shotgun.

"Alex, you can't be serious" Simon protested. "Those  
guns have been there since before either of us were  
born. That shotgun could blow up in your face."

"Relax, Simon. All it needs is a good cleaning.  
Besides, if we're lucky, I won't have to fire it. The  
powder is probably no good, anyway."

"Alex..." Simon began, as he watched the other man  
gather the things he needed.

The CIC agent turned. "I know how you feel about  
guns, Simon. I just don't see any other alternative."

Simon sighed, heavily, and headed for the ragged  
curtain at the back of the old store. He knew Alex  
was probably right, but he still didn't like the idea  
of using guns to deal with anyone. "I'll go have a  
look 'round the storeroom...see what else I can find."

"Okay, but be careful," Alex warned, his eyes on the  
dirty windows. He turned to watch Simon duck under  
the curtain and step into the dimly lit area beyond.  
When he had checked the room earlier, he hadn't seen a  
door and the only light came through a small, heavily  
barred, window set high in the back wall.

The men chasing them wouldn't be able to see inside,  
but any loud noise might lead them straight to the old  
store. If he and Simon could just manage to stay  
hidden until nightfall, they might be able to slip  
away into the darkness.

After a long moment. Simon returned with a small  
wooden box and ducked behind the counter.

"Anything interesting?"

The toymaker looked up from a pile of wire, wooden  
spools and assorted small pieces of what Alex would  
have labeled "junk" and smiled grimly. "Just more  
rusted cans and some farm implements. There's a tarp  
back there. It looks like it's in pretty good shape.  
If you can get it out, I think I can surprise our  
'friends'."

Alex nodded, and stood. "Okay, the gun's ready  
anyway," he said. He leaned it against the wall, just  
outside the door to the storeroom. He ducked through  
the curtain, and quickly spotted the tarp Simon had  
mentioned. Unfortunately, it was buried beneath a  
pile of tools that had fallen from a broken shelf, and  
moving them wasn't going to be easy. He reached up,  
and started moving the tools away, trying to be as  
quiet as possible.

"How are you doing, Alex?" Simon whispered, poking  
his head through the curtain a short time later.

"I've almost got it," he answered. He turned to lay  
the handful of tools onto the floor.

"Alex, look out!”

He turned back, just in time to see a large glass jar  
fall from the shelf far to his left, but not in time  
to catch it.

The crash the jar made, as it shattered against the  
floor, sounded like an explosion after almost an hour  
of near silence.

They froze, listening for the sound of running feet.

"Simon, bring me the gun." Alex saw the smaller man  
back out of sight for a moment. Simon dodged the  
curtain. walked into the room. carrying the antique  
weapon.

Then, almost in slow motion, he saw the toymaker trip  
over loose board and fall heavily to the floor. There  
was a bright flash of light as the gun slammed, butt  
first, against one of the wooden crates. It exploded  
with a roar, spraying fragments in all directions.

Alex let out a yell, as the blast slammed him against  
nearest wall. Groaning, he looked down to see his  
right arm hanging limply at his side. The arm was  
bent at peculiar angle, and shiny, dark blood formed a  
spider web against the tanned skin.

He reached down with his left hand and pulled the  
damaged arm to his chest, wincing at the grating  
feeling as rough edges of the broken bones scraped  
against each other. He looked around dazedly for  
Simon, and finally spotted him lying just inside the  
doorway.

Alex stumbled over the tools he had moved earlier as  
he bent to kneel beside his friend. Using his  
undamaged arm, he slowly rolled the other man onto his  
back. Simon had fallen just before the gun exploded,  
and so hadn't been in the path of the flying debris.  
Alex didn't like the look of the large bruise that was  
forming on Simon's head, but there wasn't much he  
could do for his friend at the moment.

Caston, or whoever else was following them, was sure  
to have heard the explosion and would be here any  
minute. There was a crash as the wood and glass door  
slammed Alex heard approaching footsteps and a short  
time later the ragged curtain separating the storeroom  
from the rest of the shop was pulled down roughly. He  
looked up to Caston smiling down at them, his gun  
drawn.

Alex doubled over as the shock suddenly wore off and  
tore through his arm. The old storeroom spun around  
and he felt himself falling into cold darkness.

* * * * *

Startled, Alex sat up in his bed, his heart racing.  
He wasn't sure just what had awakened him, but he had  
a feeling something was wrong, and he knew he wouldn't  
be able to get back to sleep until he found out what  
it was.

He slipped out of his bed and into his robe.  
shivering a little from the cold. He picked up his  
gun from the night stand, and slowly opened his  
bedroom door.

The big house was quiet as he moved cautiously down  
the wide hallway. The door to Simon's room was  
closed. It usually was. The  
toymaker had a tendency to talk in his sleep, and he  
didn't want to  
disturb the others. 

Alex gave the knob a slow turn, and carefully pushed  
the door open with his shoulder. The room beyond was  
nearly dark. The only light came from the full moon  
as it shone in through the curtained windows. In the  
dim light, Alex could see Simon sleeping soundly on  
the left side of the big bed. Satisfied that the  
smaller man was safe for the moment, he carefully  
closed the door, and continued on down the dimly lit  
halIway.

Tillie's door was slightly ajar, and he didn't need  
to open it any further to know the burly ex-ship's  
cook was sleeping. Her gentle snoring told him  
everything he needed to know.

He carefully checked the remaining rooms, then moved  
down the stairs to the first floor. The airy kitchen  
was empty. He stopped his search just long enough to  
check the lock on the back door. Then, finding it  
secure, he checked the laundry room and library, again  
finding nothing out of the ordinary. He moved past the  
foot of the stairs, toward the living room, reaching  
out to turn the ornate knob on the front door. It was  
locked, and he walked slowly into the shadowy room  
beyond.

Alex winced, as paper crackled beneath his bare feet.  
He cursed himself, silently, for forgetting to throw  
the newspaper away before he went to bed. A sudden  
clatter off to his left made the agent turn toward the  
dining room. A dark shadow fell across a small square  
of moonlight on the floor. "All right, that's far  
enough." Alex warned, as he brought up his gun and  
released the safety with a soft click.

The figure ignored the warning.

"Stop right there or I'll fire," he yelled, his  
finger already on the trigger.

There was no indication that the intruder had heard  
his threat. The figure was still moving toward him.  
Alex fired twice to the right of the shadowy form. And  
was surprised to hear a "ping...whine" as one of the  
bullets ricocheted wildly off of something. A muffled  
cry followed, and then the unmistakable sound of a  
body falling heavily to the floor.

Alex moved forward, his gun poised to fire again if  
necessary, but what he saw lying in the small puddle  
of moonlight streaming through the dining room windows  
made him drop the weapon in horror. "Oh. God... NO !"  
he cried, rushing forward. "This can't be real," he  
whispered, as he gathered the tiny body to his chest.

* * * * *

"What are you doing?" Orlow cried as Jagger's  
readings took a sudden upward leap, then a dangerous  
drop.

Troyan opened his eyes. "Exactly what we discussed,  
Doctor."

"It's too soon, Mr. Troyan. The psychological trauma  
could easily have killed him this early in the  
experiment.”

"Precisely what I intend. Doctor. Eventually, at any  
rate. Can you stabilize him?"

"I've done what I can. He'll need time to recover."

"Then he wi11 recover?"

Orlow nodded. 

"Very well, I'11 go on to McKay."

"Yes, Mr. Troyan. He should be entering REM state at  
moment. But, are you sure that you don't need to  
rest?"

A wolfish grin crossed Troyan’s radiation scarred  
face. "No, Doctor. I'm just getting started."

* * * * *

He was lightly dozing when Alex turned the last  
corner before they reached home. He stirred as the  
sound of siren rose and fell with the passage of an  
ambulance.

"Oh, my God!" Alex exclaimed suddenly, and sped up  
the car. "Simon, they're stopping at your house!"

Simon was instantly wide awake. He stared in horror  
at what remained of his cherished home. "Alex...  
Tillie was supposed to have some of her bridge club  
over today!"

"Easy, Simon," Alex urged. He pulled the Bronco as  
close as he could to the circle of emergency vehicles.

One of the police officers came forward and motioned  
away. "Move along, gentlemen. There's nothing to be  
seen here."

"But that's my house!" Simon protested, climbing down  
out of the truck.

The cop frowned. "Better come with me."

Alex and Simon followed the officer to where a short,  
man in a LAKERS jacket and baseball cap stood near the  
porch.

"Miller! I told you not to let anybody in here," he  
yelled, spraying  
doughnut pieces through his mustache.

"This one says he owns the place," the cop answered,  
pointing at Simon.

"And who's he? Tom Thumb?"

Simon felt Alex tense beside him. He reached out and  
squeezed the agent's arm. He’d been called worse, but  
Alex still got angry whenever anyone made crude  
remarks about his height.

"My name is Simon McKay," he told the man, who seemed  
to grow uglier every moment.

"Let's see some I.D."

Alex pulled out his wallet and flipped his CIC  
identification under the warty nose of the pompous  
officer.

The cop's face changed at the sight of the official  
seal on the small laminated card. "Sorry. Mr. urn,  
Jagger."

"Stop babbling. What's your name?"

"Inspector Flatus, sir. I..."

"I told you to stop babbling. Now what happened  
here?"

"Fire started in the basement. Man. you wouldn't  
believe all the toys in there. This guy must be some  
sort of a.... No offense, sir."

Simon, too, had seen Alex ball up his fist.

"He's an inventor, and I'd appreciate it if you kept  
your personal opinions to yourself."

"Sure thing. Anyway, one of the toys blew up and the  
security system went haywire. It locked everything,  
trapping some woman inside."

"Tillie... WHERE IS SHE?" Simon cried.

Flatus turned and pointed to where a group of men  
were hauling a blanket swathed stretcher down the back  
steps.

Simon rushed forward, terror in his face and voice.  
"Tillie!!"

"Hold it, McKay. I'm going to have to take you into  
custody for murder."

"Now wait a minute!" Alex yelled.

The fat cop shrugged. "I've got my orders, sir. One  
of his 'inventions' started the fire. Pure  
negligence, if you ask me... Someone died, so I gotta  
take him in."

The world started to spin around Simon, as a queer  
sort of darkness enveloped him....

* * * * *

Orlow looked to where Troyan lay, barely conscious,  
in his chair and went over to him. "Mr. Troyan?"

The other man stirred, "Yes, Doctor?" he responded  
softly.

"Sir, I think you should rest for a while before  
continuing."

"Nonsense, I'm fine."

"Nonetheless, sir. A break would be a good idea."

Troyan sighed, tiredly. "Very well. Doctor. And  
what about McKay and Jagger?"

"They'll sleep for some time yet."

* * * * *

Troyan returned less than an hour later, feeling much  
better. He had eaten, rested and had another exposure  
to the ultraviolet lights that prevented his radiation  
scarred skin from deteriorating any further. "I'm  
ready to continue. Doctor," he announced.

"Yes, sir."

* * * * *

He was cold. Simon blew on his hands to warm them,  
then turned to look around him. Frowning as he noted  
what little there was to see. The room was only about  
six feet square, more a large closet than a room.  
Featureless grey walls stretched above him, stopping  
abruptly at a flat ceiling of the same drab grey  
material. A single bare bulb hung from a wire set in  
the center of the ceiling but although it appeared to  
be shining brightly, very little of the light seemed  
to be reaching his level.

The door, when he finally located it, was almost  
hidden in the nearest wall. He would never have  
spotted it to begin with if it weren't for the slim  
cracks in the otherwise barren walls. He traced the  
vague outline of what appeared to be a normal sized  
door. There seemed to be an oddly shaped bump that he  
hadn't seen a moment before. Puzzled, Simon kept his  
eyes on it and, as he watched, a shiny knob "grew" out  
of the upper right hand corner of the door. On an  
ordinary door, the doorknob was usually just above his  
shoulder. But, the sudden appearance of the knob set  
so high only served to lower the small man's already  
slim chances of escape. Not even a six footer, like  
Alex, could reach the knob in its present location.

Simon slowly paced back and forth across the little  
room, thinking for a few moments. Then, his mind made  
up, he stood in the middle of the room and started  
emptying his pockets. Money, keys, bits of wire, a  
broken yo-yo (he had been meaning to fix that), a  
couple of paper clips, some screws, his multi-tool,  
and other odds and ends landed in a pile on the cement  
floor. Just as he was about to drop the final items  
onto the floor, he froze. He stood and stared in  
disbelief at a colorful double ended tube in his hand.

 

"Jumpy?" How had that gotten into his pocket? He  
hadn't had it when... ‘This new container design  
doesn't exist yet.' he thought. As his eyes focused on  
the tube. and that fact solidified in his mind, the  
tube unexpectedly faded from his hand.

Suddenly, memories flooded back in flashes, like  
stark photographs. The long drive, the smoking  
pickup, the crying girl. Alex shoving him aside, then  
clutching his shoulder. Alex lying unconscious in the  
ditch. The long bumpy ride in the battered old  
ambulance, The tiny cell, the choking gas. .The  
blackness. His mind kept trying to put the scattered  
images together, but so few of the images made sense,  
it quickly became frustrating.

He started suddenly and stared at the floor in  
disbelief. 

It was covered with a layer of water that was quickly  
getting deeper.

Simon ran his eyes up and down the wall again.  
Someone was obviously watching him and doing whatever  
they could to stop any escape attempt he made. It  
took him a moment to spot the tiny lens set a foot or  
so from the elusive doorknob. Balling up his small  
fists, he shut his eyes, ignoring the still rising  
water. To whoever may have been watching him. Simon  
appeared to be just standing in the middle of the room  
doing nothing, but to someone who knew him it would  
have been clear he was doing much more. The  
toymaker's keen mind was quickly considering the  
possibilities and rapidly discarding the useless  
ideas.

‘There's a way out of every prison,' he reasoned.  
'If only I could reach that knob.'

The icy water had reached his chest now, and he was  
beginning to lose his concentration. Simon had never  
been a strong swimmer. His compact body was more  
prone to sinking than floating, so there was no hope  
of simply letting himself float up to the knob and  
getting out that way.

For the first time in many years, Simon found himself  
cursing his too small body and the deformities that  
had, when he was much younger, made a 'normal' life  
seem almost impossible.

"If only Alex were..." Simon put an end to that  
thought. Alex wasn’t here and no amount of wishing  
was going bring him here. No. if he was going to get  
out of this. it had to be by himself.

'If I could get the knob down...' he thought. He let  
his body relax then, remembering the things Anthea had  
taught him, he concentrated on moving the knob. As he  
stared at it. it actually seemed to lower itself a  
bit. Surprised, Simon blinked, not believing his  
success. When he looked back up at the knob again, he  
was pleased to note that it  
had moved after all. So...not just physical laws  
applied here.

Taking a deep breath. Simon tried focusing his mind  
on the knob again, when it suddenly vanished. Then,  
without warning, the light above him flickered and  
went out. The tiny room was plunged into impenetrable  
darkness.

Simon groaned. Somebody was playing a very cruel and  
very dangerous game.

Simon felt his way over to a wall and leaned his back  
against it. If they wanted to play games, let them.  
He didn't want to be a part of it any longer. The  
toymaker closed his eyes and carefully slowed his  
breathing and his heartbeat to a bare minimum, as he  
had been taught. His body would float now.face up,  
and he could maintain this state for several hours if  
necessary.

* * * * *

Troyan gasped and slumped forward in his padded  
chair.

"Mr. Troyan, are you all right?"

The radiation scarred scientist took several deep  
breaths before he answered. "Yes, Doctor."

"What happened?"

Troyan scratched absently at the adhesive holding the  
electrode to his forehead. "I'm not certain. The  
images stopped."

"Faded, you mean?"

"No, stopped altogether."

Orlow turned to where Troyan's nurse was fitting an  
oxygen mask over Simon's face "McKay's readings have  
dropped to a dangerous level." He walked over to  
check the EEG machine, then snapped his fingers.  
"Alpha waves, of course!"

"Explain."

"McKay's mind is too strong for the machine. He  
denied the reality you established and withdrew from  
it."

"Like Jagger?"

Orlow shook his head. "No, sir. Jagger's withdrawal  
was uncontrolled — almost a panic reaction. McKay's  
was much more determined."  
"I hadn't finished."

Orlow frowned at Simon's monitors. "You have for the  
moment. McKay has dropped out of REM sleep. We can  
no longer influence his mind.

Troyan sighed. He was eager to continue. "And  
Jagger?"

Orlow checked. The young agent's mind was stronger  
than he had believed. Jagger had apparently reverted  
to normal sleep patterns, but there was no way of  
knowing whether Troyan had done any psychological  
damage until he could wake the younger man and test  
him. The scientist found himself wanting to lie to the  
white suited madman — tell him Jagger was unable to  
continue with the experiment. What stopped him was  
the knowledge that Troyan would, very likely, have the  
agent killed outright if he could be of no further  
use. He wished silently that he had never approached  
Troyan for the funds to develop his "Dream Machine".  
He had never intended his machine to be used for such  
tortures. If only..

"Doctor?"

"Sir, couldn't we ..."

"I'm ready to continue now, Doctor."

"But..."

Troyan pointed a gloved finger in his direction.  
"Question my orders again. Doctor, and you may find  
yourself sharing a cell with your test subjects."

"I only meant..."

"ENOUGH!" Troyan roared. He pointed to the softly  
humming machine beside him. "That machine is mine,  
just as you are mine, bought and paid for."

"No... I built that machine to help..."

Troyan smiled, his scarred face grotesque in the dim  
light. "Oh, but you are helping. Doctor, helping me  
destroy the man who ruined my life ten years ago by  
exposing me to radiation. I'm forced to live in this  
darkness as a result. I plan to make McKay suffer,"  
he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"And Jagger?"

"Jagger is a nuisance, nothing more. He helped McKay  
ruin some of my business transactions. Now, are you  
ready to continue?"

Orlow sighed and glanced at the readings again.  
"Ready, sir," he answered, quietly.

"And McKay?"

"Nothing yet."

"How long before the drug wears off?"

"At least an hour, in Jagger's case. Possibly half  
that in McKay's. I don't dare try to keep them under  
much longer than that."

"Let's continue, then."

* * * * *

“Alex-Ann-DER!" a voice taunted from his left. The  
sudden shout after the long silence startled him so  
badly that he bumped his head against the graffiti  
covered, brick wall behind him. "Come out,  
Alex-Ann-DER!" the voice called again.

"Aw come on. Jimmy, leave me alone, will ya?" eight  
year old Alex Jagger shouted back. He rubbed the sore  
spot on the back of his head and winced. Maybe hiding  
behind these old packing crates wasn't such a good  
idea after all.

"No way, Alex-Ann-DER," Jimmy Thurman answered.

"Wassa matter, ya chicken?" a second voice teased.

Alex groaned. 'Oh no. not Scott, too;' he thought.  
"No, but... "

A series of raucous clucks echoed through the trash  
infested alley,

"Knock it off. Jimmy! Go home!"

"Not 'til I get my brand new comic book.  
Alex-Ann-DER. "

Alex looked down at the crisp new magazine in his  
lap. "No, I just bought it." He remembered marching  
proudly down to the drugstore, the shiny dime held  
tightly in his fist and reaching up to the rack,  
stretching on tiptoes to carefully pull down the  
latest issue of "Superman." He had worked hard for  
his mom for two weeks to earn that dime: he had washed  
windows, taken out the trash, helped with the laundry,  
and dishes after school. There was no way he was  
going to let a bully like Jimmy take his hard won  
treasure just because he and Scott were bigger.

"Come on out, Alex-Ann-DER." Scott yelled, coming  
nearer.

Hands grabbed his shirt roughly from above and  
behind. A single four holed button popped off Alex' s  
striped shirt and made a pinging sound as it bounced  
off an overturned trash can.

"I got ‘im, Jimmy!" Scott yelled, in triumph, as he  
hauled Alex from his crouch.

Someone moved one of the packing crates aside and  
another boy, taller and huskier than Alex, shoved his  
way through the narrow opening. "Give it over, you  
little runt," Jimmy ordered, holding out a grubby  
hand.

Alex clutched the precious magazine to his chest and  
shook his head. He was finally prepared to stand his  
ground, despite the suddenly too thin air and the  
feeling that some joker had trapped an angry gorilla  
inside his ribcage. He looked desperately for an  
opening in the closely stacked crates, realizing too  
late that what had served so well as a hiding place  
only moments before was now serving equally well as a  
prison.

Jimmy lashed out suddenly, making painful contact  
with the smaller boy's left eye, knocking him to the  
pavement.

"Hey, why ain't you cryin' this time, Alex-Ann-DER?"  
Scott taunted.

Alex stood, his back straight, and glared at the  
boys. "I ain't gonna cry," he said quietly. "And you  
ain't gonna get my comic book this time, neither."

Jimmy's fist came at him again and Alex doubled over  
in pain. "I want that comic book, Alex-Ann-DER."

Alex clutched his aching stomach and tried to keep  
from throwing up. 'It'd really fix Jimmy good if I  
barfed all over his shoes,' he thought taking a deep  
breath.

"Leave me alone. Jimmy," he warned, once his stomach  
had calmed  
down a bit.

"How you gonna stop me, Alex-Ann-..."

"YOU STOP CALLING ME THAT, JIMMY!" Alex yelled. His  
defiance earned him another hard punch in the eye.  
This time, the carefully protected comic sailed into a  
puddle of foul smelling liquid.

Jimmy and Scott stared at the now ruined mess of  
brightly colored pages for a moment, then ran off in a  
hurry. Their laughter echoing in the wide brick lined  
alley.

Alex, too, stared at the spoiled treasure. "I'll get  
you. Jimmy!" he shouted, as he stood and started out  
of the alley. He stopped a moment later as a tall  
thin figure dressed in an almost blinding white  
jumpsuit stepped out from behind a loading dock. 

Alex blinked up at a bearded face buried in shadows.  
"Who are you?" he asked, quietly He was suddenly more  
frightened of this strange man than he had been of the  
bullies, though he didn’t know why..

"A friend," the stranger answered. "Who were those  
boys?"

Alex shrugged. "Jimmy Thurman, and Scott Hamill.  
They're always pickin' on me 'cause I'm littler than  
them."

"And you'd like to "get them," wouldn't you?"

"I... I guess, but my mom...she wouldn't like it. I  
worked real hard to get that comic book. Mister."

"Would you like me to help you "get them" — hurt them  
the way they've hurt you?"

"Uhm..."

"Nol" the sudden shout was like an explosion in the  
quiet alley.

Alex jumped and stepped away from the tall man. He  
watched nervously as a tiny man, only an inch or two  
shorter than he was, raced around the corner of the  
nearest building.

"Alex, don't believe him — whatever he tells you —  
you mustn't believe him!"

"McKay! What are you doing here?"

"I finally solved your puzzle, Troyan."

Troyan laughed. "Oh no, McKay. This is still my  
territory. I've been preparing, practicing, for six  
long months, all to make you suffer, McKay."

"That's why you're using Alex, to hurt me?'

"Of course."

"But why as a little boy?"

"I didn't create these images, McKay, I merely  
function within them. Did you know that if I were to  
kill either of you in this state, your own minds would  
kill you?"

"You're using our own dreams against us?"

"Yes. Isn't it brilliant?"

Simon shook his head. "I think it's horrible."

Troyan laughed.

"Alex, you've got to wake up," Simon urged the frail  
looking boy standing beside the dirty, brick wall.

The boy looked puzzled. "I'm not asleep. Mister."

Troyan laughed again. "You see, McKay, the dream  
images are perfect! This," he indicated the filthy  
alley, "is all real to him and anyone else connected  
to the Dream Machine. I could easily kill you both  
here and now, if I wished, but that would spoil my  
plans,"

"Yes, it would, wouldn't it?" Simon agreed, quietly.  
He took a step toward Alex. It was strange seeing the  
tall handsome CIC agent as a child. The adult Alex  
trusted him, he just hoped the child Alex would, as  
well. "Alex, you've got to listen to me."

"That's enough, McKay," Troyan warned, quietly and  
pulled the boy toward him.

Alex looked from one man to the other, confused. He  
really didn't trust the tall man in the white suit,  
but there was something that bothered him about the  
other man, this McKay. For some reason, it hurt to  
think about him. He trusted the little man, but there  
was still something — something very wrong — that  
almost made him want to cry. Then, it struck him, he  
wasn't afraid OF the little man, he was afraid FOR him  
— afraid that he might be hurt or.... The alley swam  
around him. sickeningly as a small fragment of memory  
settled in his mind.

"That's it, Alex," Simon shouted, excitedly. "Fight  
it! You can do it!"

Troyan laughed. "Don't be a fool, McKay! Jagger's  
mind isn't strong enough to fight the machine."

"I think it is," Simon insisted, his dark eyes on the  
child image Alex was projecting. "Alex, concentrate,"  
he urged.

Tears appeared in the boy's eyes and washed the dirt  
from his cheeks  
as his lower lip began to tremble. 

“It’s all right, Alex,” Simon said quietly.  
“Everything’s all right now.”

"Simon?" he whispered. "No!" he backed away, sobbing  
openly. "It was an accident! Oh, God, Simon, I'm  
sorry!" Alex let out a wail and tore off through the  
dirty alley, which faded around Simon and Troyan.

* * * * *

Orlow watched silently as Troyan gasped and slumped  
forward in his seat. while beside him, the warning  
indicators connected to Jagger and McKay began to  
chime as their vital signs took another, dangerous  
plunge. "Mr. Troyan?"

The other man waved him away. He felt tired, but  
otherwise fine.

Orlow turned back to his unconscious subjects. Marty  
been about the same age as the two men lying so still  
on th narrow contoured chairs, before the dream images  
had begun to drive him down the long road to suicide.  
Memories the year he had spent in the jungles of  
Vietnam filled the boy's mind when he slept, making it  
almost impossible him to rest. It had been Marty who  
had given him the first clues toward the future  
development of the "Dream Machine."

Orlow’s theory had been simple - if a psychologist  
could enter the dream world of a troubled patient and  
help him see the nightmares for the harmless illusions  
they were then, perhaps, some, if not all. of these  
people might recover instead of resorting to suicide,  
as his son had, ten years ago.

Unfortunately, he had needed enormous amounts of  
money to continue his research. He had been forced to  
lay off most of his helpers and had been about to lay  
off the rest when Troyan and his people appeared,  
seemingly out of the blue, promising money, lab space,  
computers, assistants, in short, everything he might  
need.

Orlow sighed as he set about removing the electrodes  
from Alex's bare chest. If he had known then what a  
madman Troyan was, he would never have agreed to his  
proposition.

"Well. Doctor?"

"They've stabilized, sir, but I suggest you wait a  
few hours before resuming."

"Very well. Doctor. Miss Dodson, have Caston and  
Wauro return them to their cell for the time being."

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Troyan, they will need food and water when they  
come around," Orlow said, as the white suited figure  
stood and walked away.

Troyan turned, his eyes clouded. "Do whatever you  
feel necessary to assure their presence for the next  
stage of the test." He raised a gloved finger.  
"Within reason," he added, quietly, then walked out  
of the room.

Dodson walked over and stroked Alex's bare chest  
suggestively with  
her fingertips. 

The CIC agent moved slightly in his sleep and  
groaned, but did not open his eyes.

"Do you think Mr. Troyan will let me have this one  
when he's finished with him?" She ran a long nail  
along Alex's jaw. "He's a handsome one."

"Go away, Annette, you disgust me. 

The blonde looked shocked. "What? Have you suddenly  
developed a conscience, Maurice?"

Orlow removed the last of the electrodes from Simon's  
body and frowned at her. "Weren't you supposed to get  
Wauro and Caston?"

She smiled. "I thought I'd do a little window  
shopping first. I didn't get a very good look at him  
on the road earlier — all that smoke — he's  
very nice."

"That's enough. Annette" Orlow snapped. He lifted  
Simon off the chair and laid him gently on a nearby  
gurney. "Now, either do your job or get out of my  
way."

"You're no fun anymore, Maurice," she pouted,  
slinking off.

Caston appeared a moment or so later.

"Where's Wauro?" Orlow asked.

The big man made an expressive gesture and muttered  
something in French that left no doubt as to what  
Wauro was doing and, since Dodson was nowhere in  
sight, who he was doing it with.

Together, Orlow and Caston took the men back to their  
little cell. They laid Alex and Simon onto some cots  
Orlow had had placed there earlier, despite Caston's  
reluctance, draped blankets over them and left.

Orlow returned alone a short time later carrying a  
tray. He set it down out of the way and bent to check  
Simon's pulse. The toymaker would not be waking for a  
while yet, but Jagger would be coming to very soon  
and, with all the drugs in his system, he would not be  
feeling very well.

"Mr. Jagger, wake up please, I've got to talk to  
you."

"No," Alex answered, groggily. "Go 'way." He pulled  
the rough blanket tighter. " 's cold."

"Yes, I know it's cold. I can't do anything about  
that."

A single hazel eye peered from behind a barely opened  
eyelid. It fell on Orlow's face for a moment, then  
focused on the barred window behind the scientist.  
"Oh, God, No!" he whispered, staring at the painted  
bars in horror. "It was an accident.. I swear... it  
was an accident!"

Orlow frowned, as the younger man covered his eyes  
with his forearm. He had expected a certain amount of  
disorientation from the drugs the agent had been  
given. He had tried to warn Troyan of the dangers in  
mixing the compounds this way. What confused him now.  
was Jagger's continued strong reaction to the dream  
images. "What was an accident?"

Alex's next words came in short spurts between long  
pauses, as he fought to stay in control. "It was dark  
... I... I... couldn't see ... he kept coming  
toward me ..." he said, his arm still covering his  
eyes. "I'd never. . . . "

The scientist put a hand on the agent's shoulder.  
What had Troyan forced the agent to experience? He  
could tell it is something terrible, but the details  
would have to wait. Pushing Jagger too hard just now  
could be dangerous.

Memories of Marty's bad nights flashed into his mind  
again. The blond head moving restlessly on the sweat-  
dampened pillow and the screams of pure terror that  
echoed in the darkened bedroom. "Take it easy, son."  
he muttered, squeezing the agent's well-muscled  
shoulder. "Would you like something to drink?"

The dark head shook. "No, I've got to think this  
through...try to find a way to explain this mess to  
Linden. God...Ti1ly!...she'll never believe this...."

Orlow glared angrily up at the camera lens, though he  
was certain Troyan wasn't watching just now. He was  
quite probably off somewhere, gloating over his  
"triumph".

"Listen to me, Alex," he whispered, his lips close to  
the agent's ear. "It was a dream — that's all — a  
very bad, very painful, dream."

Alex took a shuddering breath. "No...it was real...I  
killed Simon!"

Orlow's heart fell in sympathy for the younger man.  
So, that explained the reaction. He had warned that  
rotting maniac early on, that any dream involving  
death could be particularly traumatic, but Troyan had,  
as usual, ignored his advice. "Alex, please listen to  
me. Simon is not dead. Simon is fine, do you hear?  
He's okay."

"No!" The single word was drawn out and filled with  
pain. Tears rolled down Alex’s cheeks to dampen the  
pillow beneath his head.

Orlow frowned and glanced over to where Simon was  
beginning to stir. "Alex, look over here, please."  
He could tel1 the agent's mind was teetering  
dangerously close to shock and it would not take much  
to push him over the edge.

"Go away...I've got to think,"

On the other cot, Simon groaned as he came around.  
He sat up and cradled his head in his tiny hands. "Oh,  
my head!"

Alex lowered his arm and looked over in confusion.  
‘Simon?" he whispered, in disbelief. "How the....  
You're alive!" he stammered, as he scrambled off the  
cot to kneel beside his friend. "Oh, thank God!"

"Of course, I'm okay! Aside from a terrible  
headache. How about you?"

"Feels like an elephant's doing a tap dance, but I'm  
okay. God, I thought I’d killed you." He let his head  
drop to his chest and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Alex?" Simon asked worriedly

"I guess I'm still a little dizzy. What's been  
happening to us?"

Simon looked over at Orlow. "Some sort of electronic  
dream monitor. Am I right?"

Orlow nodded. "I'm glad to see you're both all  
right."

"No thanks to you!" Alex snapped, angrily, his hand  
already clenching into a fist. He wasn't very clear  
on the events of the last few hours, but this man had  
to be the cause of at least part of it.

Simon put a hand on the taller man's arm. "No,  
Alex," he warned. He gestured toward the small hole  
in the ceiling and the glint of a camera lens behind  
it.

"I told Troyan you two would be asleep another hour  
yet. They aren't monitoring this room, at the moment."

 

"You took a hell of a risk. Why?" Alex asked.

"I needed time to talk to you," the scientist  
answered, then went on to explain his reasons for  
inventing the "Dream Machine," how Troyan had gotten  
control of it, and his plans for it. "I need your  
help."

Alex threw up his hands. "What do you expect us to  
do? You invented the damn thing."

"Alex is right. We're not exactly in an ideal  
position, at the moment."

"I can get you out of here, but we've got to move  
quickly while Troyan is resting. And we've got to  
destroy my machine. I can't allow Troyan to hurt  
anyone else."

"Fine time to worry about that."

"Alex, I swear I didn't know what Troyan was  
planning. Now that I do, I can't let it go any  
farther."

The toymaker and his friend exchanged "What do you  
think?" glances.

"How do we know it isn't some sort of trap?" Alex  
asked.

"I have only my word."

"That's enough for me," Simon stated, his eyes on  
those of the scientist.

"All right," Alex agreed. He still didn't trust the  
older man completely but if Simon trusted him, he  
would go along, at least temporarily. He’d keep his  
eye on the older man though. He’d switched sides far  
too quickly for Alex’s comfort. "What about those  
trained gorillas?"

"Caston is upstairs working."

"What about the others."

"Katie has orders to stay with Troyan at all times.  
Wauro and Annette are..busy," Orlow answered, with a  
meaningful clearing of his throat. "There are only  
the six of us here."

"Okay, let's go then."

Orlow opened the door to dimly lit passage "This is  
the fastest route to the lab,” he explained.

They slipped through a door that opened into the  
large room with its three contoured chairs and humming  
bulk of Doctor Orlow’s "Dream Machine".

Simon looked it over, curiosity in his dark eyes.  
"It's a fascinating concept. Doctor. It's a pity  
we've got to destroy it. It could..."

"It's also a pity you won't get that chance, McKay,"  
Troyan interrupted.

"Damn! I knew it was a trap!" Alex yelled.

You are partially correct, Jagger." Troyan stepped  
from the shadows. "Annette told me you might try  
something foolish. Doctor."

"Sneaky little trollop," Orlow mumbled.

"What happens now?" Simon asked. 

"You will be taken back to your cell, along with your  
newfound friend, until I am ready to continue testing  
the device." Troyan didn't seem to notice Alex's  
slowly moving form until it was almost too late.  
"Wauro, stop him!"

Alex dove toward Troyan as the big Frenchman drew his  
gun and fired,

"No!" Orlow yelled, throwing himself forward. Wauro's  
bullet caught the older man high in the chest, the  
impact knocking him backward into Alex. 

The CIC agent's shoulder slammed into the corner of  
the machine with a sickening crunch.

The second and third bullets tore into the machine.  
Sparks flew in all directions as flames shot out of  
the back. The room began to fill quickly with choking  
smoke.

Alex, nearly blinded by pain, ducked instinctively  
and bolted for the door. "Run, Simon!"

"What about Orlow?"

Alex glanced at the older man. Judging by the size  
of the wound and its location. Orlow was either  
already dead or very close to it. 

"We can't help him. We've got to get out of here."  
He turned to give the lumbering Wauro a hard shove and  
ducked out of the room only a few steps behind the  
toymaker.

There was a bright flash and a loud echoing boom, as  
the machine destroyed itself from within. The blast  
blew the swinging doors outward and knocked the  
escaping men to their knees. They burst through the  
door to the garage, surprising Caston, who was busy  
making repairs under the beat-up, old ambulance.

Before the larger man could roll clear, Alex lowered  
the jack enough to trap him, then went to the driver's  
side and ripped a handful of wires out from under the  
dash. He ran. wincing at the growing pain in his  
shoulder, over to the passenger side of the Bronco

“You'd better drive, Simon," he suggested.

"What's the matter?"

"I think my shoulder's broken." He winced again, as  
they slammed the car doors. "I don't want to risk  
blacking out while I'm driving."

Simon nodded, raised the driver's seat and snapped  
the pedal extensions into place. "Hold on." he  
warned. The Bronco made a satisfying screech as Simon  
raced out of the garage and into the darkness beyond.

The sun had gone down and dusk was falling as the  
Bronco sped down the dirt road.

Simon glanced at his watch. It was almost  
seven-thirty; more than eight hours had gone by since  
they'd stopped to give the "helpless" young woman a  
hand with her "broken-down" truck. 

The first order of business, Simon decided, was to  
get as far from Troyan's headquarters as possible, and  
the second was to get Alex to a doctor. He didn't  
know whether Troyan or any of his people had survived  
the explosion, but he wasn't going to waste time  
worrying about it right now.

He glanced over at the taller man with concern.  
Every bump in the rough dirt road seemed to send  
another wave of pain through him.

"Where are we going?"

"Orlow told me there is only one road leading from  
Troyan's base. I'm hoping he was right and it'll take  
us back the way we came. I remember seeing a doctor's  
office in the last town we passed. Can you make it?"

Alex shifted in his seat, trying unsuccessfully to  
find a more comfortable position. He winced as his  
shoulder banged against the seat. "I hope so."

In less than an hour, the Bronco pulled up to a  
pleasant looking house  
in the middle of a small town.

"Alex, we're here." Simon announced, quietly. He  
opened his door and slid out onto the pavement.  
"Alex?" he called, opening the passenger door.

The CIC agent was slumped in the seat. Simon gently  
touched the other man's injured arm — it was hot and  
badly swollen. Simon stepped back out of the vehicle  
and ran to the house. A sign hung from a post in the  
lawn, identified the building as the office and  
residence of a Doctor S. Porter.

A long series of knocks brought a tall, sturdy  
looking woman in a terrycloth bathrobe to the door.  
He had obviously gotten her out of bed, her long black  
hair was tousled from sleep. "Yeah?"

"Are you Doctor Porter?" Simon asked, pointing to the  
sign.

She yawned. "Yeah. What can I do for you?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you. Doctor, but my friend's  
been badly hurt. He needs help."

She peered out into the darkness, suspiciously.  
"What's the matter with him?"

"He...fell. I think his shoulder may be broken."

"Okay, tell him to come on in."

"He's unconscious. I can't move him alone."

The doctor turned away from the door. "I'll be right  
out."

* * * * *

How is he. Doctor?" Simon asked, after what seemed  
like hours.

"Still out. His shoulder's one big bruise, but it's  
not broken. He won't be able to use it for a few  
days, and when does start using it, he'll be hurting  
for a while but, at least he won't have to lug around  
twelve pounds or more of plaster."

Simon let out a deep sigh of relief.

"The thing that worries me is that he's in such a  
deep sleep. His shoulder shouldn't hurt that badly,  
not yet. All can find that could explain it is a  
small puncture wound. What's it from?"

"It's difficult to explain."

Porter crossed her muscular arms. "Look, you came to  
me for help. Now, I can't do that, unless you're  
honest with me. I have to know what drugs he was  
given before I can go further."

Simon told the woman everything he knew, about the  
paralysis drug, the antidote Dodson had injected, and  
the yellow gas with the strange smell Troyan's people  
had used to put them sleep.

"You said this Troyan had a doctor working with him?"

 

Simon nodded.

"And he allowed them to mix drugs indiscriminately?"

"I don't think he had much choice. Troyan doesn't  
take no for an answer. "

"I'm almost certain that's what's wrong with your  
friend, but I don't dare give him anything until I  
know what he’s got in his system already. I need to  
take a blood sample and take it to a lab, but the  
nearest lab is a hundred miles from here."

"I don't suppose it's possible to let whatever it is  
wear off?"

The doctor shook her head. "It wouldn't be a good  
idea.”

Simon looked worriedly over to where Alex was lying  
on examination table. "I think I can have a lab come  
to you.”

"How?"

"Could I borrow your phone for a few moments?"

* * * * *

Tillie had fallen asleep in one of the big leather  
armchairs. She stirred at the sound of the ringing  
telephone groggily stood and stumbled to it.

"Tillie, it's Simon."

"Simon! Where are you? What happened? Are you boys  
all right?" The burly woman was wide awake now.

"One question at a time, Tillie, please." Simon  
briefly explained what had happened.

"I'll be there right away."

"Tillie. don't...."

"Don't you dare start that with me, Simon McKay. I'll  
call Linden and we'll be there sooner than snow in  
Alaska

* * * * *

Alex came back to the real world slowly. He was  
aware of sounds first — birds, a truck passing, quiet  
voices — all seemingly a million miles away at first,  
then coming gradually nearer. He opened his eyes to a  
dimly lit room. Simon sat reading in a large, wingback  
chair that made the tiny toymaker seem even smaller.

Simon turned a page. glanced over at Alex and. seeing  
the agent's eyes on him, he hopped out of the chair  
and came over to the bed. He wasn't sure just what to  
say to his friend at first, but he finally smiled and  
said "Have a nice nap?" as cheerfully as he could.

"Very funny," Alex mumbled.

Tillie poked her head into the room and gave Alex a  
smile. "Well, good mornin'. Sleepyhead." she crowed.  
She hauled a tray in from the kitchen and set it on  
the low table beside the bed.

"Tillie, you got here pretty quick," Alex said,  
dazedly.

The woman laughed. "Quick? Do you have any idea  
just how long you've been a snoozin' away in Sarah's  
bed?"

His stomach rumbled. "Must have been at least a  
day."

"More like three," Simon told him. "It wasn't easy,  
but Sarah's sure you're through the worst of it."

"Who's Sarah?"

"She's the doctor. She'll be along in a minute,"  
Tillie explained. "How's your shoulder?"

Alex realized suddenly that he hadn't really noticed  
the dull ache in his shoulder until Tillie mentioned  
it. "Not as bad as I thought it would be."

"Well, I wouldn't try to move it around too much just  
yet," Simon advised.

"Simon, Troyan,.the girl... the dreams...it was real,  
wasn't it? It did happen?"

"Yes. Doctor Orlow's machine was a bit like the  
Thought Visualization Amplifier I built for the Air  
Force."

"The thing you used on Tracy?"

Simon nodded. "But much more sophisticated. The  
T.V.A. could only project the images already in a  
person's mind. Doctor Orlow's machine made it possible  
for a second person to not only see the images, but  
influence them. as well. I don't think Troyan was  
very happy when I found my way into your dream."

“How'd you do that?"

Simon shrugged. "It started out as an accident, but,  
once I finally got the basic theory figured out, it  
wasn't too difficult to slip into your dream. You  
were a cute little boy. Alex."

"It was all so real, Simon. I thought at one point  
that I'd killed you...it was awful."

“It was just a dream, Alex, remember that.”

“That's enough analyzing for now." Tillie  
interrupted. “Sarah said you could have something  
light when you woke up so I made you some of my  
special chicken soup."

“In a minute, Tillie. Simon, the one thing that still  
confuses me. Where did Troyan got the situations he  
used on us? I never told anybody what happened that  
day with Jimmy Thurman and the comic book. . In fact.  
I think I'd forgotten about it until then."

"From us, I think,” Simon shrugged. You never really  
forget anything, Alex,, it's all there in your  
unconscious mind somewhere. Troyan said he didn’t  
create the dreams we had, just operated within them.  
I think we dreamed those particular dreams because  
they were all times when we felt trapped or pushed  
into situations we couldn’t control. Jimmy and Scott  
did their best to hurt you one way or another, so  
maybe you joined the CIC because of what happened  
that day.”

Alex nodded slowly. “Gotta stop the bullies,” he  
muttered.

“Gotta stop the bullies,” Simon agreed with a nod and  
a smile.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow. Now, will you two quiet down and let  
Alex eat?” Tillie snapped as she came back into the  
room with two steaming bowls of her famous chicken  
soup. 

She set the tray down long enough to help Alex sit up  
before she sat down in the chair and handed him a  
spoon. She held the bowl and glared at Simon until he  
picked up the other.

“Do you think Troyan’s still alive?” Alex asked  
quietly.

“I wish I knew. Linden and his men have put up  
roadblocks and they’re looking but there’s no news  
yet.”

Alex sighed. “But at least he doesn’t have the  
machine anymore so he can’t hurt anybody else with it.

“Cold comfort though,” Simon said sadly. “There’s no  
telling what he’ll come up with next time.”


End file.
